A Horrible Epitaph
by Zebediah
Summary: When Western civilization collapses into anarchy, the only logical thing to do is to become a supervillain. Spoilers for "Epitaph One".


**A Horrible Epitaph**

It was the darkest night Los Angeles had seen in a century. The entire power grid had failed, and as far as the eye could see, the only light came from out-of-control fires set by looters. For a time, the flashing lights of police cars and fire trucks had been visible, but they had only been targets for the rampaging mobs, and long before midnight, they had vanished. There were still plenty of angry shouts and terrified screams coming from the streets below.

Standing on the top of an office tower in West Hollywood, Topher Brink surveyed the scene. And laughed.

"Hahahahah," he cackled. "Ha ha HA ha ha," he tried again.

"Your laugh needs work," said a voice from behind him.

"Huh?" Topher exclaimed. Then he leaped into the air and twisted, turning to face the intruder, fists raised.

Unfortunately, he got tangled up in his cape.

The other man shook his head in disgust. He was dressed in what looked like a black lab coat and was wearing night-vision goggles.

"And that costume has to go," he said, taking a step forwards. "The cape is bad enough, but… yellow spandex? What were you thinking?"

"How the hell did you get up here?" Topher asked.

"Look, it takes a certain physique to pull off a spandex costume," said the black-garbed man. "And you just don't quite have it."

Topher looked disappointed. Then his face lit up in stunned recognition. "Hey, I know you!" he squealed. "You're Doctor Horrible! Oh my God! I watch your blog! I mean, I used to watch your blog, back before they took down the Internet…"

Horrible made a rude gesture with one hand. "Don't have time for it any more anyway," he said. "This isn't the time for frivolous distractions."

"What do you mean?" Topher exclaimed. "This is the end of the world! Evil is triumphant! I figured this would be a huge party for you guys."

"Right," snarled Horrible. "Western civilization collapses into a heap of junk. We win. But you know what?" He walked forward and jabbed a rubber-gauntleted finger against Topher's spandex-covered chest. "Now every wanna-be in greater Los Angeles wants to join our side. And somebody has to go check them out. Guess who gets the call?"

"Uh… you?"

"Exactly," Horrible snapped. "And why is that? Because _I_ have a work ethic! Because _I'm_ reliable, and Bad Horse trusts _me_! So I spend all night chasing down posers in silly costumes to see if any of them are League material." He shook his head. "So far, it's been all chaff and no wheat."

"What, you mean in all of L.A. you can't find any evil people?" Topher asked, incredulous.

"Oh, I can find plenty of evil people," Horrible said. "It's just that they're not up to the standards of the Evil League of Evil."

"Surely there must be somebody worth the effort," Topher said hopefully.

"Listen, I just spent the last two hours interviewing a blonde bimbo vampire," Horrible snarled. "My patience is just about gone, okay? So no encouraging platitudes, please."

"Um… okay," Topher said meekly.

"So let's get this over with," Horrible said, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a pen and a notepad. "Name?"

"The Dollmaker," Topher said proudly.

Horrible winced. "Sheesh," he said. "The _Dollmaker_?"

"He makes dolls," said a woman's voice from across the rooftop.

Horrible whipped out a bizarre, dangerous-looking device and pointed it at the woman. "Whoa, don't shoot!" Topher called out. "Whiskey, what are you doing up here?"

The woman walked forward slowly. She wore a white strapless dress, and her face was a mask carved in stone. "It's dark," she said in a toneless voice.

"Hm, sidekick," Horrible said, pushing his goggles up to his forehead and giving her an appraising stare. "And what was the name? Whiskey?" He snatched up the notebook and wrote something. "That's a really good name for a sidekick," he said approvingly. "And _she_ could do justice to a spandex costume. Though that dress – it's outside the box, which Bad Horse likes. And she's got this spooky Carrie-at-the prom vibe that kind of works." He made another note, and added, "If you do get in, she'll have to register with the Sidekick's Guild. We're a union shop."

"So you think I have a chance of getting in?"

"You think?" Horrible gave Topher a pitying look. "Dude, your sidekick is scarier than you are. You think that's going to be a point in your favor?"

"Well…" Topher's face fell.

Horrible sighed. "Okay, let's see what other qualifications you have."

"Well, I'm a genius, first of all…"

"Big deal," Horrible sneered. "We're all geniuses in the League. I myself got my M.D. at fourteen, thank you very much. What about you? Any advanced degrees?"

"Doctorate in neurophysiology," Topher said.

"Ah, brains!" Horrible said. "Those are always fun to play with. You do mind control, I take it?"

"You'd better believe it," Topher said proudly. "I can wipe someone's brain clean, and put any personality I want back into it."

"Ah, I see," Horrible said, something like approval creeping into his voice. "Hence, The Dollmaker. And…" His face grew thoughtful. "Hey, wait a minute. How did you get this expertise?"

"Ever hear of the Dollhouse?" Topher said, grinning.

"The Dollhouse!" Horrible exclaimed. "They're a legend! Bad Horse has been trying to get someone inside that place for _years_!" He looked Topher over, seemingly reappraising him. "And you're one of them?"

"I've been their chief tech guy for years," Topher explained. "I'm the one who did the actual wiping and imprinting."

"And that technology caused all of _this_," Horrible said, waving an arm out across the darkened city.

"You bet!" Topher exclaimed. "Although, to be fair, it was only after it slipped out of our control that it destroyed civilization."

"Someone stole it from you?"

"Not from us, exactly. From our Moscow office. There were Russian mobsters involved. Pretty ugly."

"Yeah, those Mafia types just have no class," Horrible agreed. "Still, you helped develop the technology, so you're at least partially responsible for the end of the world. Bad Horse is sure to consider that a point in your favor."

"Um… okay," Topher said doubtfully.

"So what drew you to our side anyway?" Horrible asked. "Lust for power, revenge, a better dental plan?"

"He's insane," Whiskey said.

"Um…" Topher said.

"Insane, is he?" Horrible turned back to Topher and asked, "Does she know what she's talking about?"

"She's an M.D. on her more lucid days," Topher told him. "And, to be fair, today isn't one of those."

"So, what? Paranoid schizophrenia? Homicidal mania? Attention deficit disorder?"

"Psychotic depression," Whiskey explained. "When he's not taking his Clomipramine, he crawls into a hole and starts playing with his Etch-a-Sketch."

"Hey, insanity is just the logical response to an insane world," Topher said defensively. "And if I'm going to be insane, why not be an insane evil genius?"

"Hm." Horrible pondered that for a moment. "Yeah, you might have a point there." He closed the notebook. "That'll do for now. We'll review your application and get back to you."

"So what do you think my chances are?" Topher asked.

"Don't call us, we'll call you," Horrible said. "But… just a piece of friendly advice. You might want to have that dark hole ready to crawl into."

Topher's face fell in disappointment.

"Hey, don't take it personally," Doctor Horrible called over his shoulder as he walked away. "But being evil isn't easy. It takes a lot of work. You can't just stand around on a rooftop cackling madly. It's a lifestyle, and if you're not willing to live it to the fullest, you're better off being one of the sheep."

He reached the edge of the roof, leaped up onto the railing, and turned to face Topher. "So look, just have that gorgeous sidekick of yours increase the dosage of your medication, okay? If you're going to be insane, you might as well be one of the happy kinds."

Then he leaped from the railing and vanished into the darkness.

"Um, that's like a twenty-story drop…" Topher began.

"He knew that," Whiskey said. "He can handle it."

Topher stood still for a long moment. Then his shoulders slumped, and he looked down at his feet.

Whiskey walked up to him and took his hand. "Come on, Topher," she said gently. "Let's go take your meds, okay?"

She led him off into the shadows.


End file.
